
Class. 



i_£i}r 



Book_ J A. %'^Pf^ 
Gopy!iglit}lL_ ^J. ^^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




Portrait by Frank H. Tompkins 



3>***-^' 




-S. 5. 




POKMS 



BY 



SAMUEL SILAS CURRY, Ph.D., Litt.D. 



foreword by 
Nathan Haskell Dole 



BOSTON 

EXPRESSION COMPANY 
MDCDXXII 






Copyright 

Bt expression company 

1922 



©C!.Ar)il284 3 

Printed in the United States of America 



THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS 
BOSTON 



D£Cir22 



TO HIS STUDENTS AND FRIENDS 

WHEREVER THEY ARE 

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword 1-30 

Greetings ^^ 

Morning Song 34 

A Teacher's Song 36 

Qui Transtulit Sustinet 37 

O, Alter Ipse 38 

To Denis A. McCarthy 39 

The Hills of Tennessee 41 

Hesperexo 42 

Hespereiso 43 

Storms 44 

Opportunity 46 

A Little Thought 47 

Expression 48 

The Battle of Life 51 

Gayety 54 

Warp and Woof 55 

Buried Wishes 56 

Through All the World to Thee 57 

Lines in a Guestbook 57 

At the Crossing of the Ways 58 

The Rivers: 

Above the Nisqually 61 

By the Columbia 63 

By the Grand ' 64 

By the Mississippi 65 

By the Hudson 67 

By the Connecticut 68 



Co n t e n t s 

The Rivers: „.^„ 

PAGE 

By the Charles 69 

At Grasmere 70 

By the Thames 72 

On the Ocean 74 

My Helper 78 

On a Train 79 

Helpfulness 80 

Homestead Farm 81 

In Memoriam (Herbert Q. Emery) 82 

In Memoriam (Herbert A. Burnham) 83 

The Boy 84 

A Sonnet 85 

Silent Influence 86 

Life and Joy 87 

Love Song 88 

Influences 89 

In Memoriam (Alexander Melville Bell) 90 

Groping 91 

Wedding Song 92 

The Call 92 



FOREWORD 

I 

THE fabric of a man's life is woven of many strands 
and rightly to understand it, one must trace 
them back through his ancestry. 

Samuel Silas Curry was descended from the sturdy 
stock of the Scotch Covenanters, who, early in the 
seventeenth century, were transplanted to the confis- 
cated estates of the Earls of Tyrone and Tyrconnel 
in the North of Ireland and spread over a large part of 
the Province of Ulster. They were Presbyterians of 
the most rigid type, but they brought with them the 
thrift and energy characteristic of a country where 
these qualities are necessary to win even a frugal sub- 
sistence from a grudging soil. Many of them later 
crossed the ocean and became notable for the sterling 
virtues which made them the most acceptable of citi- 
zens in their new country. , 

Robert Campbell, born in 1718, the great-great- 
grandfather of Samuel Silas Curry, was a kinsman of 
John Campbell, the second Duke of Argyle — (the 
dukedom was created in 1701) — who came to this 
country in 1728 and settled first in Philadelphia. 
Afterwards he went to Virginia, but in 1776 moved 
to Tennessee, where he died. His son Robert, born in 
Virginia in 1761, fought in the Revolutionary War, 



2 Fore wo r d 

and was one of the first magistrates in that State. He 
married Mary Young and lived with her in their own 
homestead, and was buried with her in the private 
graveyard on the grounds, under two wild cherry trees, 
planted by the husband for that purpose. Their 
daughter Jane was married to Samuel Curry, the grand- 
father of Samuel Silas Curry. 

Samuel's father also married a Mary Young. The 
wedding took place at the home of the bride's sister 
Margaret, whose husband was James Young Campbell. 
These two sisters had eight uncles who fought in the 
battle of King's Mountain on October 7, 1779, near a 
small village eighty miles northwest of Columbia, 
South Carolina. It resulted in the defeat of the British 
under the command of Colonel Ferguson. Ferguson, 
after arrogantly shouting, " Crush the damned rebels 
to the earth! " fell as he was leading his men. Several 
hundred of them were killed and wounded, and the 
rest surrendered to forces far inferior in numbers. 
This is regarded as one of the decisive victories of the 
Revolutionary War and practically ended British rule 
in the State. 

Samuel Curry's son, James Young Campbell Curry, 
married Nancy Young, who was born in Abingdon, 
Washington County, Virginia, January 24, 1823. She 
was a kinswoman of Mary Young, wife of Robert 
Campbell. The Campbells thus entering into the 
genealogical record of the Curry family were connected 
with Thomas Campbell, famous poet of " The Pleasures 



Foreword 3 

of Hope," and author of many stirring ballads, who was 
born in Glasgow in 1777, though he lived the larger 
part of his life and died in London. 

Another interesting and significant strain of ancestry 
may have left its impress on the physical, mental, and 
moral make-up of Samuel Silas Curry: His mother was 
a direct descendant of that most romantic of our early 
American pioneers, Daniel Boone. 

In 1717, a young English emigrant named George 
Boone left Exeter in Devonshire and came to Phila- 
delphia. He sailed twenty miles up the Delaware 
River, secured a large tract of land and built a log 
cabin. He named his new home Exeter, after the old 
Devon town. His wife was Mary, daughter of George 
and Mary Maugridge. Their son, Squire, married 
Mary Morgan, belonging to a well-to-do Quaker family 
of Welsh extraction, and obtained two hundred and 
fifty acres of land about eight miles southeast of what 
is now the city of Reading. His third son Daniel, and 
his sister Sarah, as little children, used to drive the 
cows to the grazing range, where there was a rude 
dairy house built in Pennsylvania style over a cool 
spring, admirably adapted to the work of making 
butter and cheese. Daniel at the age of ten watched 
the herd and at sunset drove the cattle to the cabin for 
the milking and locked the door. He had no oppor- 
tunity for schooling, but became a keen observer of 
the wild life around him and learned the habits of the 
game teeming around their primitive home. Indians 



4 Fore word 

also were numerous and he came to know them well. 
To protect himself from savage creatures he fashioned 
from a sapling a cudgel with a bunch of gnarled knots 
at the end. By the time he was twelve he was an in- 
fallible shot with the rifle. 

In 1844 his brother Samuel married Sarah Fay, a 
young Quakeress, who taught the boy the rudiments 
of the three R's. When he was eighteen, his father 
again moved, taking up a farm on the Yadkin River in 
North Carolina. Here, at the age of twenty-two, he 
married Rebecca Bryan, the daughter of a neighbor, 
and for six years lived the uneventful life of a plowman. 
But the call of the wild was too strong for him, and in 
1761 he began the career of an explorer and pioneer in 
the wilderness, where the Tennessee River takes its 
rise. He had many hairbreadth escapes, and was 
Several times captured by the Indians. More than 
once he was reduced to extreme poverty. 

He performed invaluable services during the Revolu- 
tionary War. As a pioneer he opened up to civilization 
the richest lands in Kentucky and Missouri. He built 
the first stone house in Kentucky, and the town which 
he founded and which enshrines his name still flourishes 
on the Kentucky River a few miles from Frankfort. 

He has been termed the Luther of Frontiersmen. 
Though he was bred as a Friend, he became a Metho- 
dist, with a remarkable idealism, a kind of mystic sense 
of being a Messenger of God. He believed fervently 
that he was delegated by the Almighty to prepare the 



Foreword 5 

way for the Christian settlement of the New World by 
" His People," and with this great plan in mind he 
looked forward to a wonderful development of the vast 
and beautiful realm of the West, where his adventurous 
feet were the first to tread. 

In his later years he was a man of venerable aspect, 
with a sweet and serene countenance expressive of the 
inner spirit which was never soured by the many 
adversities and disappointments befalling him during 
the larger part of his long life. He always spoke with 
a solemnity befitting a Prophet of the Lord. He 
dressed in garments fitted and made in his simple but 
well-ordered home. He had a family of five sons and 
four daughters. One of his daughters married a man 
named Carson, whose son Christopher became a hunts- 
man, scout and sheep-driver, and as a reward for 
his services in the employ of General Fremont was 
appointed an officer in the regular army. He is known 
to fame as " Kit " Carson. 

Still another notable family connection was the 
eccentric humorist, David Crockett, Member of Con- 
gress and hero of the Alamo. He was the fifth son of 
John Crockett, a Maryland farmer who moved to 
Tennessee and established a tavern on the road from 
Abington to Knoxville. His second wife was a widow, 
whose maiden name was Young — a connection of the 
Curry and Campbell families. Their son Silas Crock- 
ett was great-uncle to Samuel Silas Curry, who received 
from him his middle name. 



6 F reword 

Many stories are still current of David Crockett's 
wit, but his fame rests most securely on his part in the 
Mexican War and in bringing about the independence 
of Texas. In the spring of 1836 three men went 
together to assist General Sam Houston in the struggle 
with Mexico. The youngest of the three was a bee- 
hunter who gave up his love for a girl on the Red River 
to fight for the Texans. The second was a gambler 
who renounced his ignoble profession. The third was 
David Crockett, a man of swarthy skin and light blue 
eyes, who with his picturesque fox-skin hat, looked 
not unlike the wild creatures which he loved to hunt. 
He was regarded as " the first shot " in the United 
States, and famous was his antiquated gun which he 
called " Betsy." When he decided to join the other 
two he remarked, " Be sure you're right — then go 
ahead; I have left my family alone down in Tennessee." 

With all the glamour of romance which was awakened 
in a young child's mind by the natural pride in such 
connections and by the traditions of the Argylls, the 
Campbells, the Boones, the Carsons, and the Crocketts 
familiar as household words, it was not strange that 
Samuel Silas Curry should have been early and strongly 
attracted to poetic expression. Nor was the religious 
bent of his nature anything else than natural and 
inevitable. 

In the early part of the Eighteenth Century a violent 
passion of revivalism, which was called " The Great 
Awakening," broke out in New England and spread 



Foreword 7 

through all the settled parts of the country. It was 
followed by the usual reaction. In many of the 
denominations schisms ensued. These conditions were 
favorable for the planting of Methodism. The teach- 
ings of the Wesleys were brought to America in 1783. 
The first camp-meeting was held in the forest of Logan 
County, Kentucky, and many of the former Covenant- 
ers and their children were converted. The Curry 
family adopted this vigorous and inspiring new Cult, 
to the followers of which education seemed as necessary 
as it did to the Puritans of New England and for the 
same purpose: to prepare men for the ministry. 

II 

Samuel Silas Curry was born in Chatata, Bradley 
County, East Tennessee, November 23, 1847. 

The War of the Rebellion began in 1860, when Dr. 
Curry was thirteen years old. His father was a strong 
Union man. East Tennessee did not secede from the 
Union, and the State was between the two armies for 
four hard years. Both the armies appropriated from 
the farm whatever they could lay their hands on. 
Times were hard and there were no schools in East 
Tennessee during the war. Samuel Silas and his 
brothers, after working on the farm all day, studied 
by themselves late into the night before the pine-knot 
light of the fireplace. 

When he was eighteen he relinquished all rights to 
his father's estate, left the farm, and from that time on 



8 Forewo r d 

earned all his expenses. He entered the East Ten- 
nessee Wesleyan University ^ and was graduated from 
there with honors in 1872. This institution was later 
changed to Grant University, and after a number of 
years became affiliated with the University of Chat- 
tanooga. He was a local preacher in Tennessee, and 
as he had made up his mind to enter the Methodist 
ministry he was naturally attracted by the advantages 
of Boston University, began his theological studies there 
in September, 1872, and received the degree of S.T.B. 
in 1875. 

About this time he had the misfortune to lose his 
voice. He relates the incident: — 

" One Sunday morning I stood before an audience 
in the middle of an address, unable to speak a word. 
The horror of those moments has never been blotted 
from my memory. The failure was a climax of several 
years of misuse of my voice, though during that time 
I had sought help from every available source. I 
determined to search still more diligently to find the 
causes of my condition." 

He entered the School of Oratory of Boston Uni- 
versity and took his diploma there in 1878. The Dean 
of the School of Oratory was Professor Lewis B. Mon- 
roe, a man of remarkable genius and personality, and 
on the Faculty was the great scientist. Dr. Alexander 
Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone, who was 
Professor of Vocal Physiology. He was the son of 

> The Rev. Nelson E. Cobleigh, D.D., LL.D., President. 



foreword g 

Alexander Melville Bell, the originator of Visible 
Speech, a teacher and intimate friend of Dr. Curry. 

In 1878 Dr. Curry received the degree of Master of 
Arts from Boston University, and in 1880 that of 
Doctor of Philosophy. In 1880 he also received his 
diploma from Dr. Charles-Alexander Guilmette's School 
of Vocal Physiology, Boston, and in 1905, Colby College 
conferred on him the degree of Litt. D. 

During the summer of 1880 he went to London and 
studied with Emil Behnke and Lenox Brown. Two 
years later he went to Italy and studied for a time under 
the celebrated maestro, Francesco Lamperti, Professor 
of Singing in the Milan Conservatory. In Paris he 
thoroughly investigated the " methode quelque peu 
excentrique " of Fran^ois-Alexandre-Nicolas-Cheri 
Delsarte. While in Paris, Dr. Curry consulted Reg- 
nier, who was for forty years one of the leading actors in 
France, and head of the National School of Acting. 
Regnier later not only provided him with a note which 
enabled him to study the class work of the School of 
Declamation, but also gave him valuable advice in 
regard to founding the School of Expression. 

Dr. Curry's studies in Literature, Nature and Art, 
and his critical ability in interpretation drew his 
attention to the general weakness of expression mani- 
fested not only by those who occupied pulpits in his 
own denomination and indeed in all denominations, 
but also in speakers of every profession. In order to 
get at the root of the trouble, he had taken pains to 



lo F r e w r d 

investigate thoroughly the methods of instruction of 
men of repute in this country and abroad. His 
research proved to him that it was necessary to find a 
more scientific and philosophic method of procedure 
to meet his personal needs. Again he determined to 
search more diligently — not only with the view to 
meeting his own personal needs, but also to enable him 
to meet the needs of other men. He felt it necessary 
to find the Laws of Vocal Expression. He used to 
declare that he had essayed the systems of forty diflfer- 
ent teachers, and found them all lacking in different 
degrees. 

The Curry method of voice training was not the 
direct result of any of his teachers' instruction, although 
the wonderful work of Dr. Guilmette on breathing, of 
Lamperti on emotional control of artistic breathing, and 
of Professor Monroe on imaginative thinking in public 
speaking, together with his own intuitive and sympa- 
thetic insight into his pupil's personal needs gave Dr. 
Curry a comprehensive understanding and a complete 
mastery of his subject. He soon realized that it was 
not his mission to be a regular preacher, in the ordinary 
acceptation of the term; it was rather to be a teacher of 
preachers, a teacher of teachers, an even more important 
function than preaching. The young theological stu- 
dent, whose stumbling-block of uncontrolled voice and 
faulty speech had so discouraged him, was destined to 
furnish the mainspring of success for many notable 
men in the pulpit; and he was all the more sympathetic 



Foreword ii 

with his timid students from having been himself 
constitutionally nervous. These faults of nervousness, 
however, he almost entirely overcame, and he was 
universally recognized as a shining example of the 
principles and methods which he created. 

Now, he began to write along the line of " The 
Province of Expression," which was published in 1891, 
Then followed " Lessons in Vocal Expression," " Imagi- 
nation and Dramatic Instinct," and " Mind and Voice," 
four books that present to the world " The Curry 
Method." Among Dr. Curry's inedited manu- 
scripts is a book on " Pantomimic Training, Simple and 
Complex Expressions — Stage Business." This will 
undoubtedly be published soon, as it completes the 
unity of his work in presenting " The Curry Method " 
in its more philosophic form. 

After the death of Professor Monroe in July, 1879» 
Boston University offered Dr. Curry a position in the 
Oratorical Department of the College of Liberal Arts 
and the School of All Science, and in 1883 he was made 
Snow Professor of Oratory. In 1884 he was chosen 
Davis Professor of Elocution at the Newton Theo- 
logical Seminary, a position which he held for more 
than a quarter of a century. During this time he was 
also instructor at Harvard University from 1891 to 
1894, at the Harvard Divinity School from 1896 to 
1902, at the Yale Divinity School from 1892 to 1902. 
He also lectured at summer and special terms at the 
University of Washington, the University of Minne- 



12 F r e w r d 

sota, the Teachers College of Columbia University, 
the University of Chicago and many other institutions. 
During the last three years of his life, he lectured on 
Public Speaking and Vocal Interpretation at the 
Union Theological Seminary in New York. 

In 1888 he resigned his Snow Professorship at Boston 
University to establish the School of Expression, which 
he conducted until his death. The School of Expres- 
sion was founded as a school of scientific research, 
applying laboratory methods, and attracted students 
from every State in the Union, and even from abroad. 

Ill 

Dr. Curry was married on May 31, 1882, to Anna 
Baright, the Principal of the School of Elocution and 
Expression, located at Freeman Place, Boston. She 
was graduated from the Boston University School of 
Oratory in 1877, studying four years with Dr. Bell, and 
from Dr. Guilmette's School of Vocal Physiology in 
1880. She was on the faculty with Dean Monroe in 
Boston University School of Oratory from 1877 to 1879. 
When Professor Monroe died in July, 1879, Miss 
Baright opened and successfully directed the first sum- 
mer term of Oratory given in the United States, which 
was under the auspices of the Boston University School 
of Oratory. 

Mrs. Curry was descended on her mother's side from 
General Samuel Augustus Barker, who served in both 
wars between the United States and Great Britain, 



Foreword 13 

was on Washington's Staff, and was a personal friend of 
Lafayette's. He was at one time a member of the 
New York Legislature. 

Mrs. Curry was Dean of the School of Expression 
until after Dr. Curry's death. She is now Dean 
Emeritus. At a memorial service in honor of Dr. 
Curry at Atlanta, Ga., in May, 1922, Miss Edith W. 
Moses, A.M., who holds a Philosophic Diploma of the 
School of Expression, and was head of the Department 
of Expression in Agnes Scott College, concluded her 
speech on " The Work of Dr. S. S. Curry in Relation 
to Education " as follows: 

" In paying tribute to Dr. Curry, I cannot refrain 
at this time from including Mrs. Curry. Let us think 
of her not even as Dean, valuable as she is in this 
capacity, but let us think of her as a co-worker with 
her husband, quick to apply his principles in teaching 
— an artist in her power to see and feel the needs of 
students, and often, from her own searching study of 
the whole subject of Expression, giving Dr. Curry 
valuable and inspiring suggestions. How many of 
these have gone into the making of the School of 
Expression perhaps we shall never know. Rare, 
indeed, is the situation — husband and wife — master- 
minds working side by side — Pierre and Marie Sklo- 
dowska Curie in the scientific laboratory — Samuel S. 
and Anna Baright Curry — co-workers in the realm 
of art and education." 

Dr. Davis Wasgatt Clark in Zions Herald in 



14 F rewo r d 

January, 1922, in a Memorial article on Dr. Curry said 
of Mrs. Curry, " Their relations and co-operation were 
as unique in Expression as that of Robert Browning 
and Elizabeth Barrett Browning in poetry." 

They conducted regular and summer terms all over 
the United States, thus, as it were, kindling altar fires 
to the cult of eloquence (in the best sense of the word) 
all over the land. 

Dr. Curry's faith in the laws of the natural languages 
established the Curry method of Public Speaking in 
the School of Expression, Boston. His courage some- 
times flagged at night after a trying day, but it awoke 
with him unclouded the next morning, and he has left 
the spirit of Truth in the study of the Spoken Word 
throughout the world. 

He gathered around him many admirable men and 
women to assist him in the School of Expression. 
Poets and novelists were glad to speak or read before 
his classes; among them, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, John 
T. Trowbridge, Louise Chandler Moulton, and William 
Dean Howells. Visiting actors came and illustrated 
their art. Sir Henry Irving, when he was in this 
country, took a deep interest in the work of Dr. Curry, 
and would have made it possible for him to establish 
a School of Acting in London had Dr. Curry seen the 
way clear to do so. 



Foreword 15 

IV 

His life-work is in his books and in the personality 
of his thousands of pupils. In the year 1888 appeared 
his first book, " Classics for Vocal Expression." This 
was followed by " The Province of Expression," " Les- 
sons in Vocal Expression," " Imagination and Dra- 
matic Instinct," " Vocal and Literary Interpretation 
of the Bible," " Foundations of Expression," " Brown- 
ing and the Dramatic Monologue," " Mind and Voice," 
" Little Classics for Oral English," " Spoken English," 
" The Smile," and " How to Add Ten Years to Your 
Life." For several years Dr. Curry was editor o( Ex- 
pression, a quarterly review, devoted to the interest of 
the Spoken Word. The articles over his signature in 
this review show his literary breadth and critical in- 
sight in the world's work and thought. 

This is not the place to rehearse all the triumphs of 
the School of Expression: its history would fill a 
volume. It is only due, however, to say that it has 
always reflected the individuality of its founders who 
have worked unselfishly, not for their own interests 
but for the development and spread of a great Idea. 
To quote Dr. Davis Wasgatt Clark again, " He threw 
the ' copy ' method of elocution into the discard forever. 
He protested against imitation. His contention was 
that one should express, not inhibit. He used Schlegel 
to say — ' man can give nothing to his fellow-man but 
himself.' The student should not be like his teacher 
but like his own best self, his faults, which Curry 



i6 F rewo r d 

called ' warts,' removed as far as possible, but his dis- 
tinctive characteristics preserved. Curry's aim was 
the conveyance of thought from one mind to many 
minds by the best vocal expression of that thought 
possible. In this he dug down to fundamental prin- 
ciples, scattered the debris of the false methods of 
centuries of * elocution,' and became the first scientific 
teacher."^ 

In the history of evolution and progress, one of the 
strangest and most inexplicable things is the slowness 
with which great ideas and great improvements are 
adopted either by Mother Nature or by her children of 
the genus Man. Sometimes Dr. Curry was almost dis- 
couraged because the recognition of the soundness of 
his theories and the value of his innovations was not 
accompanied by a more immediate and wide-spread 
adoption of them. But he was right and his faith 
always sustained him. 



Dr. Curry had remarkable ability in the analysis of 
literature, especially of Poetry. An excellent example 
of this is found in the Thesis that he wrote for his Ph.D. 
degree at Boston University. It is entitled " A Review 
of Wordsworth's Excursion " and fills nearly a hundred 
octavo pages. He makes a searching analysis of the 

' See " Province of Expression," by S. S. Curry, a comprehensive study of 
the principles underlying Expression (Melange genres), and regarded as the 
first authoritative book on the subject published. 



Foreword ij 

Poet's methods and shows how he opened up to the world 
an entirely new aspect of Nature and the interpretation 
of God through the language " which speaks to-day in 
every blooming plant, every sighing breeze and every 
singing bird," and which thus conveys the idea of the 
kinship of God and man. Similar analyses of other 
Poems are found in Dr. Curry's prose works; he had the 
gift of getting at the heart of great literature and 
naturally this gave vitality to his teaching of Expres- 
sion. 

His criticisms also of Painting and Sculpture were 
based on a sound philosophy, a philosophy which was 
broad enough to support all forms of Art. But the 
Art of Poetry was most intimately associated with his 
method of Expression and his pupils never forgot or 
will forget his analyses of the masterpieces which he 
was constantly bringing to their attention, not only 
in his lectures and in his theses but also in the living 
exemplifications as afforded by the visits of such poets 
as delighted to come to the School.2 in one course of 
Literature exclusively devoted to Poetry, each week the 
authors under consideration appeared and read their 
own favorite poems. 

Readers of Dr. Curry's books will have noticed 
that he prefixed a short verse or a complete lyric to 
each volume. These were generally of his own com- 
position. Yet it was probably not known to very 

a Mr. Dole was lecturer on Poetry at the School of Expression during the 
winter of 1919. — Publisher's Note. 



l8 F rewo r d 

many who knew him and were familiar with his work 
that he was a more or less prolific writer of poetry. 

The first known example of his poetical work is 
found in a rather long narrative entitled " Hannibal's 
Consecration," which has been preserved among his 
manuscripts. It covers thirteen pages of large letter 
paper, and it is signed with the pseudonym, " George 
Lenoring." It was a college exercise, and is mentioned 
here only because of its influence in stimulating him to 
further scholastic endeavors. A few passages will 
give some idea of this youthful effort. He would not 
probably have cared to have it treated as sufficiently 
important to be printed in its full length. This impres- 
sion is confirmed by the fact that he had evidently at 
some time much later in life taken it in hand to revise 
and improve, but desisted. The first twenty-two lines 
considerably altered were among the typewritten 
copies of his verses. 



HANNIBAL'S CONSECRATION 

By George Lenoring 

The setting sun on noble Carthage falls 

And brightly crowns her battlements and walls ; 

With snow-white crests its last rays cover o'er 

The long, swift waves that roll against the shore. 

The tired camels far outside the throng 

Are resting from their burdens borne so long, 



Foreword 19 

And near the gates the youths so blithe and gay- 
Talk o'er their sports mid forests far away, 
While from the many galleys lying near 
The slave's rude song floats out so loud and clear. 
Secluded, lonely, yet not distant far 
From out the city's throng and noise and jar 
Upon a hillside sloping to the shore 
By citron groves and olives covered o'er 
Where sweetest flowers are mingled 'mong the leaves 
O'er smallest bush and tallest forest trees 
Beneath a palm tree covered o'er with vines, 
A fair and lovely woman there reclines. 

The " fair and lovely woman " is the wife of Hamilcar 
and mother of Hannibal. As she lies there at ease 
" on a bed of flowers . . . lulled by the low-voiced 
summer breeze " Hannibal appears: — 

" And now beside that fairest mother dear 
A tender loving boy has nestled near. 
His well-formed head upon his tender hand 
He views the long waves roll upon the strand." 

Just as the sun sinks and " slowly now the red sky 
fades away " mother and son — " those fairest sleep- 
ers — sweetly sleep, While evening songsters watchful 
vigil keep," Hamilcar, "Carthage' glorious chief" 
comes to tell them of the approach of the forces of 
Rome. He pauses a moment : — 



20 Fo reword 

" He lifts the thick vines pendent from above 
And there beholds the object of his love 
As now he stands above that sleeping form — 
Those cheeks, those eyes have still the same old 

charm 
As when in youth they oft were wont to roam 
Through fields and groves around his ancient home. 
His aged heart thrills just as warmly still 
As long ago they wandered up that hill. 
As when upon its summit, hand in hand. 
They stood and gazed upon the moonlit strand." 

She wakes (though, as in old Ballads the Poem does 
not definitely say so) and realizes that Hamilcar has 
come 

" To consecrate to Mars this noble boy 
The everlasting foe of Rome 
His time, his very life-blood to employ 
To save his country and his home." 

She asks: — 

" Is this thy mighty business brings thee now 
In such hot haste, the sweat still on thy brow, 
Hast come, the dust still on thy helmet's crest. 
To tear a child from off his mother's breast. 
To take my only boy, so kind, so good. 
To stain his tender hands with hostile blood." 



Foreword 21 

Hamilcar assures her that his love for her is just as 
firm and true as ever, but his duty has called him to 
protect her. 

But now the crisis has come and he must take the boy 
with him and teach him to emulate his sires: — 

" Dear wife! one hope is left that gives me joy: 
That hope entwines around our dearest boy. 
Our fathers' blood that bought these towers and 

walls, 
Our sacred liberty, this child now calls. 
To these our inmost souls should now awake 
To give him up though our own hearts should break. 
He must not stay to lead a gay life here 
And revel while his country's ruin 's near. 
I'll lead him through the storm by day and night; 
Beside his father he shall learn to fight 
And when I'm gone he thus shall save his home 
And humble haughty, base, deceitful Rome." 

These selections show fine dramatic feeling. It is 
possible that if Dr. Curry had definitely resolved to 
devote himself to Poetry productively instead of 
critically, he might have taken high rank in this phase 
of literature. 



22 F rewo r d 

VI 

The present volume consists of a selection of Dr. 
Curry's most representative Poems. He had begun 
to arrange them evidently with the intention of ulti- 
mately publishing them, but his hand dropped before 
he had completed the work. The truth is, he was to 
the last degree meticulous — to use a much abused 
term in its proper sense of timidly scrupulous — in his 
revision of his lines. Some of them, especially in the 
Sonnets, have as many as a dozen different variants. 
For instance, the one entitled " Through All the World 
to Thee " has these different readings: — 

In sun and rain, o'er plains and peaks of snow 

Through all the world to thee, through rain and snow 

Through raging seas; along the storm-beat shore 

Through raging seas and rocky mountain air 

By rocky coast where rise far peaks of snow 

By rocky coasts . . . (two tentative changes written 

in pencil and illegible). 
So it goes throughout the Sonnet. 

An attempt has been made to select the best readings, 
which were not always the final revisions. 

Dr. Curry, with his sane sense of literary values, 
would hardly have claimed to be a highly original poet. 
He followed discreetly in the paths made by his Scotch 
kinsman, Thomas Campbell, and was strongly influ- . 
enced by Wordsworth to whom he pays fit tribute in 



Foreword ^3 

the longest of the poems — or rather sequence of poems 
— in the volume. 

Many great Poets have been inspired by rivers; 
some great Poems have been inspired by small streams; 
for example, Scott's " To Sweet Teviot," Burns's 
" Bonnie Doon," Wordsworth's " Yarrow Unvisited," 
and Longfellow's Sonnet " To the Charles." Dr. 
Curry's poetic account of a journey from the Pacific 
Coast, across America and the Atlantic, takes great 
rivers for its stations, so to speak. It might have 
been epic, but he had no ambition to embark on such 
a vast project. The poem, has a certain placid charm 
and lands the reader safely in the beautiful Lake 
Country consecrated to memories of Wordsworth. 
Dr. Curry had no liking for the more recent attempts 
of versifiers to be unique at the expense of clarity and 
simplicity, of melody and rhyme. He followed the 
beaten path and was satisfied with the traditional 
forms and rhythms. He made no experiments even 
in devising unexpected rhymes. What he wrote is to be 
treasured, especially by those that knew him, as the 
expression of a genuine lover of Nature. 

Dr. Curry was also a real lover of mankind. A beau- 
tiful story is told of his charity-work. It brings in 
his relationship with Phillips Brooks, the well-beloved 
Bishop of Massachusetts, who was one of his lifelong 
friends : 

" One evening Curry was telling the rector of his 
experience, when the older man broke in with the 



24 Fo rewo r d 

exclamation: ' Curry, I'd like to go with you. Come 
to the house tomorrow night!' When Curry called, 
the Vestry was in session and an officious official said, 
' Dr. Brooks is very busy, he is very much engaged! ' 
Just then ' S. S. ' heard that ' voice ' ever dear to 
those who have once heard it. It was saying: 'Gentle- 
men, I have an appointment with that young man. 
I'll approve the business you transact in my absence.' 
The next moment Dr. Brooks was in the hall and reach- 
ing for his hat, and the two swept out arm in arm to the 
North End and down into the fetid air of the cellar, 
ill-lighted with its smoking lamps. Phillips Brooks 
stood a moment, the splendid specimen of perfect 
manhood towering above those human wrecks upon the 
floor, and then he poured out his soul upon them in 
such a message of the love of God as an angel would 
delight to hear. It was deed as well as word, for that 
night before they parted Dr. Brooks gave Dr. Curry 
a goodly sum to be expended in the way of relief needed 
at that time." 

Dr. Curry's friendships are reflected in his seri- 
ous Verse. Some of them are memorial tributes 
written in the stress of bereavement. Like Words- 
worth he was a deeply religious man. He was, to use 
the words of Henry Adams, " luminous in the sense of 
faith." Immortality was an ever-present vision before 
him. How real it was to him may be seen in a brief 
extract from a letter which he wrote to a friend in 
sorrow: " There is One that comes closer to us, who 



Foreword 25 

'sticketh closer than a brother'; One who under- 
stands our needs; and is All Power, All Strength, All 
Sympathy. May His comfort be yours. To rise to 
the strength of the Lord, that strength which is given 
to all, that strength to know that ' all things are pos- 
sible with Him,' will be for you to rise to the Power to 
comfort the whole race, rise to do the great work that is 
before you." 

Another letter written to a friend in August, 1877, 
gives a charming picture of his sympathetic under- 
standing of children. His playfulness in entering into 
the play of the little boy and girl was characteristic of 
the man: — 

" Dear Dickinson, 

' My pen is bad, my ink is pale. 
My hand shakes like a small dog's tail.' 

And I fear I shall not be able to write to you, but I 
will begin in the usual way, i.e., as visitors to summer 
resorts always begin. They always begin by describing 
the gorgeous scenery. So I will begin by describing 
the glorious scenery of the place of my present sur- 
roundings. 

« Above me (about 41 feet) is as grand a row of bath- 
ing houses as you ever saw. Against one of the posts is 
an humble individual (myself) sitting on a newspaper. 
Before me the waves slap up at me with the usual 
slash. People from all nations (judging from their 
dress) march down a long flight of steps and — jump m. 



26 F reword 

It reminds me of Arnold Winkelried, who, with arms 
outspread, received the Austrian spears and made 
way for Liberty. So comes old gray-headed ocean 
to the shore, with long hair streaming back and arms 
outspread, receiving the spears or arrows, some striped, 
some blue, some long, some short, some thick, some 
thin, some with long hair, and some with short. Amid 
this scene of beauty one sad thought haunts me — a 
fear lest a wet bathing suit be wrung out in one of the 
houses above me and I be bathed before the time. 

*' But now another object greets my eyes. There he 
stands, or rather sits, a sad piece of nature's handiwork. 
I am anti-Darwinian, i. e., I believe Darwin began at 
the wrong end. This poor creature was once a bird. 
If any man doubts let him open his eyes and look for a 
moment, and listen to me. People look upon this poor 
unfortunate, and because he has lost his feathers he no 
longer is called by the name of his forefathers, but is 
called by the plain cognomen ' frog.' 

" But what's in a name! Sorrow has bent him low; 
he has not stood erect for years; and his wings have 
been so long used for props to his aching body that now 
they are changed into what people call fore-legs. But 
who can look for a moment and not feel that originally 
they never were designed for such a function. They 
were once wings; there can be no mistake. His bill 
too has been broken off, forever spoiling his song. After 
years of sorrow his eyes stick out, the effect of weeping. 
Alas! poor Garrick, that people should call thee frog. 



Foreword 27 

Your sorrows are greater than you can bear. Exiled 
from the free air of Heaven how sadly dost thou turn 
thine eyes towards thine own, thy native clouds. 
With thy head silvered o'er with the frosts of many 
winters, thou dost sit by ' the sad sea waves ' and 
dream of the days of yore, like ' the last rose of sum- 
mer left blooming alone, All thy early companions are 
f eathered 3.nd flown.'' Alas! my friend, no man or even 
woman has ever spoken of thy sorrows. 

"Whoop! My conscience! What a jump! Did 
mortal ever see the like? What swimming! Watch 
those legs! Pity gives place to admiration. Happy 
frog! Would that I too was freed from my feathers, 
and my behind legs limbered up like thine. Then I 
could read my title clear, 

" From heat, and fleas, and flies, 
And bid farewell to ' Muskeeter ' 
And wipe my smarting eyes. 

Like thee, my once sad but now happy friend, I could 
leap in and swim away and be at rest. After all, per- 
haps Darwin is right, and the frog is a higher order than 
the bird. In hot weather he certainly has the advan- 
tage. 

" A-ah-ah-ah-ah! (Hard to write a yawn.) 

" The frog had made me stupid, when four little crea- 
tures came along who did stand erect. Two lovely 



28 Fore w o r d 

girls, a boy, and one so dressed that you could not tell 
whether he, she, or it was a boy or a girl. Well, they 
began not far from my seat of war (the daily on which I 
sat had an article on the Eastern War), yes, they began 
to build sand-houses. It was too much for me. I 
laid down my book and paper and penholder and drew 
nearer to that group. (The oldest girl had black hair 
and lovely eyes.) They had built a small house with a 
tremendous fence around, with two large provision 
houses and two barns. I was the admiring spectator. 
They then proceeded to lay out an extensive farm. 
Then out farther I began to try my architectural 
ability. I piled my heap, was questioned what it was 
to be. Alas, my ideas were mixed. I had neglected 
the first principle of art. I had no clear Ideal or idea. 

" But they helped me out. It must be the church. 
I can't tell you all about it: — How we distinguished 
between a church and a cathedral, how the children 
showed their knowledge of history by naming it after 
a certain queen, rejecting Bloody Mary, etc. How we 
could not finish the tower, and one of the children 
suggested that we leave it unfinished for lack of funds. 
The tide was near, and we stood, some working to 
resist the waves with dams. All to no purpose; they 
came, and at last all was in ruins. The great houses 
and walks and shrines and church, all were washed 
down together, and so was my hour's enjoyment. We 
had to separate. 

" The only joy I had left was that the little brown- 



Foreword 29 

haired girl looked back and smiled a goodbye. (The 
black-haired one only stole a quick glance.) 

" ' 'Tis ever thus, 'tis ever thus, 
When hope has built a barrier.' 



" I can write no more. 

" Your disconsolate, 



S. S. C." 



Dr. Curry's judgment regarding the Fine Arts was 
excellent. He knew how to criticize a painting, and 
his posthumous manuscripts contain many lectures on 
the History of Painting and Dramatic Interpretation 
too inspiring to remain long in the closet. 

In writing to a friend, thanking her for a kind letter, 
he says, " I have always hoped for an awakening of 
your artistic nature, and you must have observed that 
song responds to your desire to express. I have longed 
for the same, and I might have been inspired to study 
at one time, for I was a student with Lamperti; but 
the fact is I studied singing for the right use of the voice 
which precedes song. Jean de Reszke has many 
splendid ideas, some of course equally bad. It is 
curious how many good things are covered up by a bad 
method." 

It is hoped that this little collection of Dr. Curry's 
Poems will find a welcome among the wide circle of his 
former pupils and those that felt his beneficent influ- 
ence in their lives and professions — in a word, among 



30 Fore w r d 

those that were privileged to count themselves his 
friends. They will be ready enough to overlook such 
shortcomings as are due to the lack of final supervision 
on the part of the author and to the difficulties that 
met the editor in his choice and arrangement of ma- 
terial. 

Nathan Haskell Dole. 

Boston : 

October, 

Mdcdxxii. , 



"RANDOM RHYMES ON A 
ROCKY ROAD" 



Greetings 33 



GREETINGS ^ 

"Y\/'E hail thee on thy royal way, — 

A road thou ne'er hast trod before, 
One thou wilt pass but once, no more! 

Joy greet thee on this happy day! 

We hear Life sing, " The best by me 

Is on thy path allowed to fall; 

If thou wilt give thy best to all. 
The best will ever come to thee. 

"A throng of joys around thee sing. 

Be thine the strength to dream and dare. 
Thine too, the princely heart, aware 
That thou art born to be a King." 

' This Poem was written for the Silver Jubilee of the School of Expression: 
New Year's Wish for 190S. 



34 Morning Song 

Meditating over the experiences of twenty-five years 
of teaching, at its completion, the following song was 
written on Wrentham Lake, about sunrise, between the 
hours of three and four in the morning of August 14, 
1904. 

This song was printed at the top of a Silver Jubilee 
letter sent out to all persons taught during the twenty- 
five years, whose addresses could be procured. 



MORNING SONG 

QHhark! oh hark! 
I hear a lark 
Above the darkness greet the day; 

His song is spoken; 

The mists are broken, 
And night and shadow steal away. 

O rosy morn ! 

No crown of thorn 
Can dull the ears or blur the eyes. 

The feeblest heart 

Still reads a part 
Of thy blest message on the skies! 

Man still doth know 

Aurora's glow 
When rosy hues the clouds adorn, 

And sky and air 

Are still as fair 
As when Athena first was born. 



Morning Song 35 

Strong soul, thy dream 

Is morning's gleam 
That signals doubt and fear to flee; 

The sun's faint spark 

Above the dark 
Foretells thy longed-for day to thee. 

Ah! ages long 

The self-same song 
Above the clouds is ever heard, 

Each morning new 

Our hopes are true, 
We hear the glad eternal Word. 

O to our sight 

Breaks forth the light. 
And tints along the hilltops play, 

O'er fog-banks drifting, 

Our hearts up-lifting, 
We hail with joy the coming day! 



36 A Teacher's Song 

A TEACHER'S SONG 

"n^ROM a hillside hut with its door ajar, 

One night in the long ago, 
A light was waved to thee afar 

Climbing up from the valley below; 
One called to thee on thy rocky road 

Through the blinding sleet and snow; 
He tried to cheer thee and lighten thy load 

And thy upward path-way show. 

He was only one of the many who sought 

To stir thy heart to be bold, 
But he joys to hear of thy battles fought 

And the rocks thou hast turned to gold. 
The years are long, but not a regret 

Chills the love for thee untold; 
The heart of the teacher can never forget. 

Though the love of the taught may be cold. 

Thou art far away, yet he stands there still 

In the same low cabin-door; 
And thinks as he points one up the hill 

Of another who went before. 
He is proud to hear thou hast weathered the storm 

And braved the cannon's roar; 
The years are long but his heart beats warm, 

Though thou greet him again no more. 



^u i T r an s tulit S u s t i n e t 37 

" Qui Transtulit Sustinet " (He who has borne us 
over will sustain) was written on the occasion of the 
first removal of the School from Beacon Street to 
Boylston Street. 

It was printed on the back of the program of the 
Dedicatory Recital. This Recital was a reading of an 
abridgment of Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound," 
by Mrs. Curry. Dr. Curry made the introductory 
remarks and outlined the argument. Shelley's great 
poem was chosen because it embodied the ideals of 
the School. 

QUI TRANSTULIT SUSTINET 

A S one whom duty calls his steps will stay, 

Ere hill-top shuts home's little world from view, 

To gaze on forests green, on waters blue, 
On vales and hills that round his childhood lay; 
So now across the years our thoughts will stray 

To those whose hearts were brave, whose faith was 
true, 

To hopes and fears and toils, from which we drew 
The strength and trust to reach this parting way. 
Oh, may this place a Bethel round us rise! 

May shadows flee and visions fill the air. 
Our rugged road reach upward to the skies, 

And stones and steep become a golden stair! 
From beds of stone may hearts awake to know 
That angels up and downward come and go! 



38 O, Alter Ipse 



This dedication was to Alexander M. Presnell, Dr. 
Curry's most intimate college friend, who (as they 
walked by a little stream called the Aestinaully) often 
encouraged one inclined to be unusually sensitive and 
prone to be discouraged. Presnell died in 1875. 

To A. M. P. 
O, ALTER IPSE 

'T^HE waves still murmur to the listening shore, 
A star comes forth to greet the rising moon; 
Again the breezes dance with leafy June. 
But thee, upon the shore I find no more. 
Oh, hast thou seen me with my single oar 

Struggling to reach this island on my way? 

I call thee from these shores of peaceful day, — 
Return, once more a faltering heart restore! 
A sheet toil-worn and blotted here I spread; 

For thee its lines more full and clear to trace. 
Alas, I cannot hear thy kindly tread. 

And all is dark, I cannot see thy face! 
So to the winds the hasty lines I throw 
To fly and find some heart its word may know. 



To Denis A. McCarthy 39 

One very snowy, stormy night in December, 1907, 
the Irish poet, Denis A. McCarthy, was welcomed as 
a guest at the School of Expression. 

The following was Dr. Curry's introduction: 



TO DENIS A. McCarthy 

/^NCE on a time, long years ago — 
How long it was, I hardly know. 
Perhaps 'twas fifty years or more 
Although he seems about a score, 
We cannot tell; his heart is young 
Joy ever wags a youthful tongue 
And we must always be quite wary 
With one who comes from Tipperary — 
Came Denis from the Emerald Isle 
To warm cold Boston to a smile. 
With wit and singing he can carry 
All to his far-off Tipperary. 
Though drifts the snow — he still can bring 
The breeze that cheers us " In the Spring." 
And oh, we 're glad his heart still thrills 
And sings to us of Ireland's Hills. . . . 
He is like a fay or Irish fairy 
This Denis from his Tipperary. 
We give a welcome truly hearty 
And call him Denis A. McCarty. 
But, he explains, you make a botch 
That's not my name, I am not Scotch. 



40 To Denis A . McCarthy 

And then with feeling far from wrathy 

We call him Den (one N) McCarthy. . . . 

We cannot quite forgive him that 

He was not truly christened Pat. 

But still whatever be his name 

We love him deeply just the same. 

His gentle heart, though far he roam, 

Grows warmest at the thought of home; 

And he to-night comes here to sing 

Of things that thrilled him " In the Spring." 

And though outside December's snowing, 

And winter storms are fiercely blowing. 

Not one of you will ever know it 

While listening to our Irish poet. 

He sure will thrill our hearts and carry 

All of us far to Tipperary, 

To see " the feathered folk assemble," 

And feel " the joyful air a-tremble " 

For we shall all forget the gale 

And see in spring " the golden vale," 

We shall be soaring from Suir and Schleiv, 

(Oh, Denis dear, what botheration. 

That's not the right pronunciation. — 

Your " Irish eyes " we would not grieve. 

And so we rightly spell Slieve!) 

Here in our low and humble tent 

This poet I to you present. 

Accept thou from us welcome hearty, — 

Again I almost said " McCarty," 



'The Hills of Tennessee 41 

Although I know it deeply wrongs! 
But whatsoever be your name 
Know we all love you just the same, 

The while we listen to your songs. 



THE HILLS OF TENNESSEE ^ 

npHOUGH I've nary 
A Tipperary 
Yet when I hear our Denis sing 
Quickly Winter turns to Spring 

And slowly rise 

Before my eyes 
The hills and " Slievenamon " of Tennessee, 

My " golden vale " is smiling 

All my wandering thoughts beguiling 
And a mocking bird is singing in the old oak tree. 

(' Suggested by a Poem of Denis A. McCarthy's.) 



42 Hesperexo 



The following two sonnets written in early life are 
meant to suggest two views of nature. " Hesperexo " 
and " Hespereiso " may be translated Evening from 
the outside and Evening from within. 

HESPEREXO 

' I ^HE hills were crowned with sunset's golden ray, 
And cloudlets fringed with richest purple dyes 
Had floated far away in western skies, 

To catch the farewell kiss of parting day; 

As Evening, lingering on her dewy way. 
Had paused before her shining gates ajar, 
And hung for earth a golden good-night star, 

Wrapped vale and hill in twilight mantles gray. 

Then, while the robins sang their sweetest song, 
While breezes softly chimed among the trees. 
And every sunbeam smiled to fade away, 

With waving hands and bowing low and long. 

She welcomed Night with song of bird and breeze, 
'And slowly closed her gates and followed Day. 



Hespereiso 43 



HESPEREISO 

CjOFT zephyrs sang the weary world to rest, 

And thrush and robin joined their roundelay, 
While sunbeams danced on waters far away. 

And laid on cloudland-peaks a rosy crest. 

The murmuring pines by fragrant winds caressed. 
Sighed low like waves along a distant shore, 
As Evening slowly hung her lamps once more 

And drew her twilight-curtains down the West. 

And lo! a temple towered through all the glow. 

Where birds and brooks, where oaks and sighing 

pines. 
Sang songs beneath the mighty dome above, — 

One heart still beat through all: the songs below, 
The smiles above, the tinted shadowy lines, 
Were signs and symbols of Eternal Love. 



44 Storms 



The two following poems were letters, one written 
from Day's Woods, Roxbury, and the other written on 
the Atlantic Ocean. 



STORMS 
I 

T WALK again the lonely wood, 

As twilight curtains slowly fall; 
The vines still clamber where you stood 

And lilacs bloom above the wall. 
The pines like waves along the shore 

By breezes fanned are softly sighing. 
And western skies are tinted o'er 

By purple sunbeams slowly dying. 

The oaks are waving to and fro. 

The city rumbles from afar, 
The daisies nod and smile below, 

While gleams above the evening star; — 
'T is all the same — thy rocky throne, 

The vines and cones that smiled about thee; 
But thou art gone, and drear and lone 

The rocks and cedars are without thee. 



Storms 45 

The squirrel chatters from his tree, 

And robins sing their roundelay, 
But woodland songs are lost to me 

The sweetest voice is far away. 
Those cold words rankle in my breast, 

And all the glory has departed, 
I seek these woods in vain for rest 

And through them wander broken-hearted. 

II 

Ah ! Thus I sang long years ago 

Amid the opening buds of May, 
While sweetest flowers bloomed below 

And robins sang beside my way. 
While sang above the soothing pine 

And tree- tops waved with loving motion; 
But such a raging storm was mine 

That vain was all their fond devotion. 

To-day the sea with wild uproar 

Rolls up its billows mountain-high. 
And raging floods upon us pour 

From breaking seas and heavy sky. 
We see but dimly through the gloom 

The sea-gull dashed from restless pillow. 
As fierce winds flung the snow-white spume 

From crests of every heaving billow. 



46 opportunity 

Thus mid the floods storm-driven on, 

My thoughts fly far to thee and home, 
To storms within so long agone 

And storms without as now I roam; 
Ah ! then amid the songs of Spring 

What inward grief and deep commotion; 
But now a peace that makes me sing 

While tossing on a stormy ocean. 

OPPORTUNITY 

PJ^AR from our boat upon the stream, 

Dance sunbeams on the waters glowing; 
But by our side no ripples gleam. 
And dull to us the gentle flowing. 

The sun at morn is dressed in gold, 
And fair his robe at eve's declining; 

But at the noon his brightest fold 
Has lost its tints and rainbow-lining. 

Oh, Time, thy angel wings illume, 

When thou art passed, or far before us; 

But dull to mortal eyes thy plume. 

When hovering with thy blessing o'er us. 

The morn now rising o'er our way 

In hues of hope and dew-drops glowing. 

Too soon will face the common day, 
And we be heedless of thy going. 



A Little Thought 47 

The last meeting of the Boston University School of 
Oratory, June 19, 1879, was informal, and speeches 
were made by some of the students. 

At this meeting the following lines, written the night 
before, were read by Miss Minerva Guernsey as simply 
the expression of one of the members of the class. A 
copy of them requested by Miss Guernsey was sent 
with the rhymed letter entitled " Expression." 

A LITTLE THOUGHT 

A little thought in deep despair 

Lay hid among these broken lines. 
As cloudlet lost in misty air, 

Or floweret deep in tangled vines; 
But it received such life from thee. 
That no one dreamed it came from me. 

Now, as the exiled shell, they say. 

Sings always of its far-oflF sea. 
These lonely words by night and day 

Thus ever fondly sing of thee; 
I feel they now are hardly mine. 
Their noblest part I feel was thine. 

The Mocking Bird ne'er truly sings 
By northern dell or northern dome; 

Let loose, he gladly spreads his wings 
And seeks his far-off" southern home; 

So now these lonely rhymes set free 

O'er hill and dale come home to thee. 



48 Expression 

EXPRESSION 

(A Letter in Rhyme) 

"^TO empty form or empty sound 
In nature ever can be found. 



The robins singing near and far 
While sets its watch the evening star; 
The Bobolink whose sweetest song 
Is heard mid morning's shadows long, 
The myriad voices from the brake, 
The ripples of the smiling lake; 
The rolling sea, the lowing herd; 
The murmuring brook, the joyous bird, - 
All voices join from sounding shore 

To zephyrs in the lonely pine; 
The rustling leaf, the thunder's roar. 

In one great symphony combine. 

On conscious sky of sunny noon; 
On silvered lake or watchful moon, 
No random line is ever drawn. 
From lightning's flash to softest dawn; 
The clouds that blush o'er twilight gray 
As Night is kissed by parting Day. 
Bud, leaf and flower, each line and hue. 
From burning sky to quivering dew, 
Are all Expression, each a part, — 
A smile from one great loving Heart. 



Expression 49 

Oh, deaf and blind! Earth is not show, 
Or random noise, or empty glow; 
Behind its face, a living Soul 
Thinks, moves and animates the whole. 
The feeling heart by humblest stream 
Can catch a smile amid its gleam; 
In daisy's cup can find a part 
Of that which fills his own glad heart; 
Can feel in roll of ocean-billow; 
The gentlest sigh of bending willow. 
From cloudland glow to budding vine. 
That earth incarnates the divine. 

Oh, art of art, as 'neath the hills, 
A spirit all the grasses fills, 
So thou to human hearts hast shown 
That not the painter's art alone, 
Demands the artist on his knee 
To work like old Fiesole. 
Thine art is even more divine, 
For not on canvas is thy line, 
But on the body, life and soul, 
Never to fade as ages roll. 



50 Expression 

Oh School of Schools, forgive thy child, 
Who comes with feelings deep beguiled. 
Upon thine altar here to lay 
A simple wreath, then glide away, 
'T is not a sentimental heart 

Whose tendrils here have learned to twine. 
But one with love for thy great art. 

Which reaches nearest the divine. 

Oh, art of art, thou living art. 

Making the body serve the heart, 

Awakening truer inner sight, 

Lifting the bushel from our light; 

Giving to thought its word and sign 

To pent up feeling voice divine. 

Showing our human frame to be 

The image of divinity, — 

To thee this sunny morn we cling, 

While flowers bloom and robins sing; 

And with thy strong hand firmly prest; 

We go our way to do our best; 

To mingle in the strife and din 

And speak the thought that throbs within. 



T^ he Battle ofL ife 5 1 

Little thought those there on that June morning, 
1879, that it would be the last meeting of the School 
of Oratory. A few weeks later, in July, Professor 
Monroe, Dean of the School, died by Lake Dublin, 
near Mt. Monadnock, New Hampshire. 

One of the most unexpected, one of the last thought- 
of events occurred when the School was abandoned 
by the University, and Dr. Curry was called upon to 
undertake similar work in connection with other de- 
partments. 

Twenty-seven years afterwards meditating over the 
strange events, the following lines were presented at a 
birthday celebration: 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE 

/^H far-off morn of dream and youth and May, 
How little knew I that prophetic day. 
The meaning of it all! 

How soon that awful message bade me wake, 
" Our leader falls by lone Monadnock's Lake." 
Spring quickly changed to Fall. 

Didst sleep, Oh master, calm by Dublin's shore? 
Or see us miss, amid the battle's roar, 
Thy form erect and tall? 

Didst watch our ranks when broken and dismayed; 
With even our sacred altar lowly laid. 
Or hear our mournful call? 



§2 The Battle of Life 

Oh long, long years! Dare I to-day look back, 
And trace amid that long and zig-zag track 
The fears that hindered all ? 



How rich the harvests which I was to reap, 
What breastworks all alone I was to leap, 
And storm the fortress-wall! 

Even still the battle rages fierce and long; 
To us has come no final victor's song; 
But could I now recall 

And shun the toils, mistakes and keenest pain; 
Hopes baffled, frequent loss with little gain, 
I still would choose it all; 

Would gladly climb again the rugged steep 
And strive to grasp that fallen sword, and leap 
To thee upon the wall. 

Though here I stand with feeble strength endowed, 
I feel " my head is bloody but unbowed," 
Nor will I conquered fall. 

Though many still may laugh at all our claims, 
And jeer our proud and high artistic aims. 
Our fruit and sheaves so small; 



T^he Battle of Life 53 

The flag is higher up the jagged steeps. 
A larger army slowly upward creeps, 
And farther sounds the call. 



Youth is a state of mind and not of years; 
A strong courageous soul mocks age and fears; 
Hope heeds nor Spring nor Fall. 

Youth still with May can bloom, though head be 

gray; 
Though sun be low, the heart sees dawning day, 
Hear morning's bugle call. 

Not ours to know who will the battle win, 
'Tis ours amid the smoke and fiercest din. 
To stand whoe'er may fall. 

What matter whom we miss upon the field? 
The sword some other arm will newly wield. 
For God is over all. 



54 G ay e t y 



GAYETY 

"\X7'E dance along with joyous song 

By murmuring brook in meadow green, 
While moonbeams glance we gayly dance 
Before our fairy king and queen. 

We creep before the silent door 

Of those we love while wrapped in sleep, 

While starlight gleams we wake their dreams 
Or quiet stand and vigils keep. 

But when the lark sings o'er the dark 
And sunbeams show their rosy glow. 

With full hearts gay we trip away. 
And as we go laugh " ho, ho, ho! " 



Warp and Wo of 5 5 



Many poems by Dr. Curry were addressed to stu- 
dents. The following was written and incorporated as 
a part of the Baccalaureate Address on the Art of Life: 

WARP AND WOOF 

A S Day in the East hangs its signal star 

And crimsons with hope the clouds and sea 
At thy window I watch thee gazing afar 

And dreaming yet doubting Life's promise to thee. 

The warp of thy life is that dream of thy heart, 
Though held above thee by hands unseen; 

It bids thee awake for the woof is thy part 
In weaving and showing what life may mean. 

Accept thy dream and dare to obey it; 

Ideals and dreams hard work imply; 
Thou must see thy vision and learn to essay it, 

Or alone at the loom thou wilt dream and sigh. 

The idle dreamer scornfully judges 

Or sneers at the workers, or pines in despair. 

The dreamless worker but plods and drudges, — 
He only lives who can dream and dare! 



56 Buried Wishes 

A friend requested good wishes, signed by all the 
family, to be buried in the corner-stone of a country 
home. 

The wishes were expressed in the following words: 

BURIED WISHES 

IITERE, stars, your vigils keep, 

First tints of morning, gleam, 
Skies, brood aware and deep, 
And sunbeams, dream! 

Here bloom, ye flowers of Spring, 

And earliest grasses grow; 
Bluebird and robin sing, 

And breezes blow! 

Here give, oh, pine and bird, 

Measures for dancing feet, 
May shouts of joy be heard, 

And children meet! 

May child-like hearts see here 

The slow transforming rose. 
And learn the peace and cheer 

Love only knows. 

Ye trees, stretch arms above 

And benedictions give 
To hosts who teach through love 

How blest to live! 



Through All the World to Thee ^y 

THROUGH ALL THE WORLD TO THEE i 

'T^HROUGH all the world to thee, through rain and 
snow, 
Through raging seas, along the storm-beat shore, 
My heart beats quick and warm, though feet are sore, 

As far I seek for one I tried to know. 

I find thy tower where surges dash below, 
Where wanderers joy above the tempest roar 
To hear thy strong, rich voice arouse once more 

The world to see the signs of morning's glow. 
To-night I, too, a wanderer, come alone 

And climb the rocks all white with drifted foam, 

The night seems dark, and far my long-sought home. 
O let me feel thy heart beat with mine own. 

Oh, here by thee the doubt and fear are gone; 

Mists break apart, I catch a glimpse of dawn. 

LINES IN A GUESTBOOK 

To the Rev. and Mrs. Robert Bakeman., oj East Jaffrey^ 
New Hampshire. 

" (CATHEDRAL Trees," Monadnock's rock. 
The zealous pastor of his flock, 
The lovely mistress of the Manse, 
The bobolinks, the wide expanse 
Of weaving hills, the murmuring streams 
Live ever in the Wanderer's dreams! 

1 This Sonnet embodies a meditation suggested by the thought of how many 
students had been taught by Dr. Curry and were settled in all parts of the 
world. 



58 At the Crossing of the Ways 



AT THE CROSSING OF THE WAYS 

A T the sharpest turn of thy rugged road, 

Where a broad way opens through the valley 
And Pleasure calls thee down to her chalet, 
I see thee halt and lay down thy load. 

The wild rose is smiling, empearled with the dew, 
The prophet-breeze through the pine-tree whispers. 
The robin, the bluebird, the morning-lispers 

Are striving to waken thy heart to be true. 

Take the upward path, though rugged with stone; 
Its steepness will lessen, thy heart will grow stronger. 
And far above thou wilt doubt no longer. 

For the meaning of Life will be known to thee. 



TO 

G. B. B. 

AND 

E. G. C. 

ST. MARGARET'S, WESTMINSTER 

September Eight, 12 M. 
MDCDVIII 



6o The Rivers 



THE RIVERS 

Dr. Curry spent Saturday night, July 17, 1908, at 
Recce's Camp, Paradise Valley, Mt. Rainier. Four 
or five feet in front of the tent the snow was eight feet 
deep. 

The following day, with Professor Hart of Harvard 
University, and Professor Meine, of the University of 
Washington, Dr. Curry climbed the side of Mt. Rainier. 

They reached the Camp of the Clouds and here en- 
joyed the marvellous panorama westward toward Mt. 
St. Helena, — most beautiful of mountains, — Mt. Hood 
and Mt. Jefferson, extinct volcanoes clad in eternal 
snow, all more than ten thousand feet high, and the 
lower range of mountains, innumerable and unnamed, 
five thousand or six thousand feet high, many of them 
clothed with snow. They then climbed up to Mc- 
Clure's Rock, near the Camp of the Stars, and were 
rewarded with a still more sublime view of this great 
scene. From this point they could hear the avalanches 
falling. They stood above the great Nisqually Glacier, 
and could see the river which flows out from under it, 
seeming a very narrow thread, from their great height. 

Near this spot they found heath and heather bloom- 
ing matted together. 

Here Dr. Curry received a letter summoning him to 
London to give his eldest daughter in marriage. He 
started from this point on the return Joyrney. His 



Above the Nisqually 6i 

feelings were so awakened that several poems came to 
him, most of which were written while dashing along 
on the train by the side of the rivers here commemo- 
rated. 

As a part of this journey he visited, at daylight and 
before sunrise, Grasmere and Dove Cottage, the home 
of Wordsworth. This will explain the reference to 
Grasmere. 

The poems grew gradually and were completed on the 
return journey on the ocean. 



I 

ABOVE THE NISQUALLY 

T STOOD with awe on Rainier's steeps, 

Where he his lonely vigil keeps; 
Saw morning's earliest stroke of fire. 
Fall gently on his mighty spire; 
Gazed downward o'er his icy walls 
To where Nisqually's glacier crawls; 
Where cloud-banks rest upon his side; 
Felt that far awesome vision wide, — 
St, Helena's decked in purest white, 
A bride in flowing veils of light, 
Hood pointing to the depths on high, 
And Adam's belt swung from the sky; 
Saw scores of peaks all robed with snow 
And hundreds rolled in blue below; 
Heard avalanches down their steeps; 



62 Above the N i s q u a li y 

Saw the great ice streams in their deeps; 
Saw thee, Nisqually, far below 
The giant rocks along the side 
Of thy great ice-bed deep and wide; 
Saw thy small stream creep from the snow 
And lose itself among the trees 
In its wild journey to the seas. 

Then came a call from two I love 
That seemed a mandate from above 
To cross the world their joy to share 
And in love's rite a part to bear. 
Pausing upon the dizzy height, 
Between the rocks I caught the sight 
Of closely-matted heath and heather, 
The pink and white, blooming together. 
Old world wanderers sure are ye 
Bringing a message from our own. 
Whose meaning to my heart is known! 

heralds from beyond the sea, 

1 heed the call ye bring to me! 

I gazed across the depths below, 

Then downward dashed o'er fields of snow. 



T 



By the Columbia 63 

II 
BY THE COLUMBIA 

'HE mother from her tender breast 

Tore that which made a softer nest 

For thee, her joy and pride; 

Upon her gentle wings thy form 

She bore above the raging storm 

And chasms deep and wide. 

Forgive, forgive, oh first-born love. 
The tears that can but fall above 

The humble, empty nest; 
On other wings for brighter skies 
With deepest joy we see thee rise, 

And know that all is best. 

Look never back a moment more. 
Lean on those raptured wings, and soar 

Along thy skyward way. 
We gaze upon thy form afar, — 
Thou art to us a distant star, — 

Part of another day. 

Oh great Columbia from afar. 

Though snow-clad mountains seek to bar, — 

They only glorify thy way. 
So love through all the storms of life 
Will surely beautify the strife 

And reach its final sway. 



64 By the Grand 

On the Eternal Father's wing 

With joy we see thee mount and sing 

For His is all the love. 
In life bear gallantly thy part; 
Trust thou the love within thy heart 

And His who guards above. 



Ill 
BY THE GRAND 

r\ RIVER GRAND, whoe'er could dream 

That thou, a gentle rippling stream, 
Through these great rocks thy might hast hurled 
And cut Black Canyon for the world! 
O little stream, with gentle speech. 
Cut thou those giant rocks to teach 
Vain man, how strong a tender heart! 

Grand in name and grand in art, 
Did Colorado join with thee 

To cut her Canyon to the sea? 

Oh, eagle poised upon thy peak, 

My Country's symbol, pardon speak, 

That I upon a rushing train 

Crash through thy most sublime domain; 

1 hear our far-off loved ones' call 
Good-byCj proud bird, to thy high wall. 



By the Mississippi 65 

Up rugged cliffs, o'er deeps profound, 
To the great valley's utmost bound, 
As in the mountains sank the sun. 
Its highest ridge at last was won. 
A moment here my course I stay. 
Look back where mountains roll away, — 
Then as the darkening gloom increased, 
Down rushed I toward the purple East. 



IV 

BY THE MISSISSIPPI 

r\ ARKANSAS, what giant forge 

^^ Could cleave through peaks thy Royal 

Gorge ? 
Great Mississippi gently flows. 
But all the springs, and rains and snows. 
From her great Valley's farthest West 
To ocean bears upon her breast. 



Compared with Love, such power how vain 

To ocean's depth a drop of rain. 

As boats upon the ocean rest, 

The ages float upon Love's breast, 

O Love, why call me home to share 

A little part of thy great care? 



66 By the Mississippi 

Why call me far across the sea 
To give our loved one's hand to thee ? 
Can my poor arm thy power convey 
One moment on its mighty way? 
Find thou some fitter hand than mine 
To place our loved one's hand in thine? 

Shakespeare who showed me first my race. 
Great Chaucer with his gentle grace, 
Or Spenser with his deep-toned lyre, 
Milton who kindled freedom's fire, 
Wordsworth who taught me Nature's life. 
Or Blake who stilled my deepest strife, 
Browning who taught me love and joy, 
Or Shelley, Passion's lyric boy, 
Or one who knew the English song, 

Yes, Irving of the gentle eyes, 
Who looked in mine and made me strong - 

Dear Master Pilgrim from the skies. 
Take Thou her hand, act Thou my part. 
Give it to him who holds her heart, 
Great spirit hovering in the air, 
Take Thou our darling to thy care. 



By t h e H u d s n 67 



V 

BY THE HUDSON 

n^HY brothers of the West are strong, 

But Hudson, thou canst move me more, 
For Love brought here her sweetest dream. 
Along thy whiding, wooded shore. 

O love, our loved has learned Love's dream, 
The dream that came to me and thee, 

And to her call I gladly come 
Across the land from sea to sea. 

O sun, take thou our message far 

And paint above these two who roam 

The morning colors of the West; 

Remind these wanderers of their home. 

Tell them afar beyond the sea 
We bow to Love's diviner right. 

And place her hand in his to hold 

Through life's long maze of joy and light. 



68 By the Connecticut 

VI 

BY THE CONNECTICUT 

T ONG-LOVED river of New England, 
-^ Flowing from her highest hills, 
Gathering from her farthest valleys 
All her smallest dimpling rills. 

Skies and trees and hills are mirrored 
In thy softly-moving stream, 

As the bobolinks and robins 
Waken Morning's early dream. 

On thy banks was born the singer 

Who has taught our loved Love's song, 

Like thee. River, he is constant, 
Like thee, ever pure and strong. 

O strong, youthful heart, and faithful 
Whose love proudly claims its own, 

Ours to walk beside thee ever 

Through the long and dim unknown. 

Gladly, proudly give we to thee. 
Take her for thy love alone. 

For we do not lose in giving. 
But we gain thee as our own. 



By the Charles 69 



VII . 
BY THE CHARLES 

TV/TOST winding of all winding streams, 
^ By whom return my homeward dreams, 
Why do ye rivers stay the same 
That change the most! Is it your aim 
To teach us that Eternal Form 
Remains behind the fiercest storm? 
That something stands above all chance, 
That changes not with circumstance? 

O Love and Home, however far 
We journey toward the evening star. 
Our hearts throb for that lowly door 
Until its hinges turn once more. 
Though one no more come down the stair, 
Love ever keeps the vacant chair, 
O Love and Life ne'er found apart. 
The primal dwellers of the heart, 
Whatever changes, hopes or fears 
Our love grows deeper with the years. 



JO AtGrasmere 



VIII 
AT GRASMERE 

A S dawn comes slowly up the sky 

At last I greet thee, long-loved Lake; 
Thy peace no hurrying breezes break; 
Thy Wordsworth's hills all mirrored lie — 
A gentle smile upon thy face — 
Asleep in thine own fond embrace. 

As fades the morning star from view 
I hear afar the laughing rills 
Joyously dancing down the hills; 
Oh scenes that taught your poet true, 
Lead me along your lonely ways 
And show me where he sang his lays. 

I linger round his cottage low 

And tread the stones and steps he laid 
With his own hands beneath the shade 

Of trees he planted long ago; 

And pass that humble, sacred door 

And tread with awe the stony floor. 



AtGrasmere Ji 

Poet of simple life and free 

Feeling " the gladness of the May," 
Chanting for " thinking hearts " thy lay, 
Let me receive a gift from thee, 
Something that thou alone canst give, 
Something to teach two hearts to live. 

To feel a " Presence " in the rills 
" Disturb with Joy " teachings that lie 
In " silence of the starry sky " 
" The sleep among the lonely hills " 
The " entire contentment in the air " 
The moon's "delight" when "heavens are bare"; 

The power to feel the joy that springs 
" Where brooklets dance their wayward round " 
Feel " beauty born of murmuring sound," 
" High objects with enduring things! " 
O Bard who saw beneath the strife, 
Teach us to live the simple life! 



JZ By the Thames 



IX 

BY THE THAMES 

TV/f URMUR, O Thames, of distant hills 

Repeating as thy waters flow 
Those tender songs the poet sang 
To thee and Love long years ago. 

O English fields, spread out your path, 
Ye hawthorns, greet them on their way. 

And thrushes, sing your sweetest song, — 
Our loved ones walk with you to-day. 

O English oaks, your courage give! 

O English lark, lift up your prayer! 
O English daisies, kiss her feet, 

And English breezes, lift his hair! 

O England, loved on every shore. 
Thy children, whereso'er they roam. 

Still feel a quiver at thy word. 
And bless thy name and call thee " home." 



By the Thames 73 

O mother England, at thy knee 

Our loved ones come and meekly bow, 

Thy children, though they come from far. 
Bless thou and consecrate their vow. 



Teach them the spirit of that song 
True English Singers always sing, 

That life is not a winter's gloom, 
But full of love and joy and spring. 

Show them the England poets dream. 
The real England bards have seen, 

Of joy, of love, of courage strong; 

Crown them of these a king and queen. 

O Source of love and joy and life. 
Great Spirit of the world, look down. 

Fill thou with love, our love and thine, 
With peace and joy their long years crown. 



74 On the Ocean 

X 

ON THE OCEAN 

np HOUGH round me ocean's storm-winds roar. 
Though tossed afar from England's shore, 

My heart still lingers, conning o'er, 

Living, that magic scene once more: 

How beautiful the morning-light 

No fog or cloud could dim the sight. 

For Love had kissed the dawning Day. 

The sun streamed through the windows old 
And lit the aisles with rays of gold. 

The organ filled the arches gray, 

" Big Ben " sent forth his noon-tide tone, 

The angels o'er the lettered stone. 

That keeps " our Bishop's " name in awe, 

Smiled kindly at the two they saw — 

On whom true love had set the seal — 

Meet at the altar rail and kneel 

Above Sir Walter's sacred dust, 

And each to each give life-long trust. 

Great Mother Ocean, on thy breast, 
Though dashed and driven in wild unrest, 
O waste of waters, wilt thou tell 
Why these deep feelings in me swell? 
Help me the vision to recall, 
And teach the meaning of it all! 



O n t h e Ocean y^ 

" Barest thou call me watery waste? 

To me thy glorious rivers haste, 

Until made pure again they rise 

And journey backward through the skies, 

And fall as snow upon the steep, 
Or cool and feed with gentle rain, 
Some parching field of starving grain. 

Then seek again my restful deep. 

" The mist upon thy face, that spray, 
Is now upon its backward way. 
Some night as dew it will distill 
And some sweet cowslip's cup will fill; 
The foam that dashes to thy feet 
Will ride on some strong v/ind and fleet, 
Fall on some height as purest snow, 
Then mingle with the streams below: 
Leap down a steep and rocky shore, 

Or join the rapid rivers' flow. 

And gayly dancing to and fro 
Seek me, its mother, here once more. 

" The old world called me ' circling stream,' 
And true that early mythic dream; 
Not only earth do I surround. 
But journey through the sky's profound; 
My ever-flowing water-course 
Surrounds the world and is the source 



76 On the Ocean 

Of life to every tree and flower. 

In me, South-floating hour by hour 

The iceberg melts; its muddy stream 

Reflects the brooklet's purest gleam. 

Surely no ' Sire of Storms ' am I! 

The storms that whirl from mountains high 

Cross continents in rage unblest 

But sink to peace in my great breast. 

They but a moment change my face: 

My heart restores their gentle grace. 

Winds suddenly may turn to cold, 

But I, forever young, though old, 

Strive on and on, through all degrees. 

To equalize the farthest seas. 

" Why dost thou chafe with wild unrest. 
When rocking on my gentle breast? 
Though winds may howl, though thick the spray 
I bear thee, traveler, on thy way, 
Though madly tost, while billows foam. 
At last I bring thee to thy home. 

" Great Love, an ocean larger still 
The heart of all mankind can fill 
With peace and tenderness at last. 
In time the storms will all be past; 
Though hate and surface winds awake 
And cause the heart with fear to quake; 



On the Ocean JJ 

Though nation against nation rages 
Love hnks together all the ages; 
As my heart bears the tropic streams 
To warn the countries near the pole 
Turns icebergs toward the tropic beams 

And strives to harmonize the whole, 
Brings cooling airs to southern palm 
And fiercest storm soon turns to calm, 
So Love engulfs and fills all life 
And stills to peace the world of strife. 
Though fogs delay and tempests roar, 
Love keeps its course from shore to shore. 
Though voyage be long and dangers great, 
And slow the sailing, soon or late, 
Through blinding mist and dashing foam, 
Eternal Love brings all things home." 



yS My Helper 



MY HELPER 1 

'"pHE night was dark; I walked the deck alone, 

The thickening clouds shut out my guiding star, 
My course was lost, and from some sandy bar 

I heard the maddened breakers' dreaded moan; 

But through the blinding mists by storm-winds blown 
I heard a soft though steadfast voice afar, 
And soon I saw thee pass my tossing spar 

And take the spray-washed place beside mine own. 

How long the night! storm after storm broke o'er 
Our bark; but storm nor rock brought thee dismay, 

Nor siren's song from some enchanted shore 
Caused thee one moment in the course to stay. 

At last the light-house gleams, our port is nigh, 

The Morning with slow steps climbs up the sky. 

1 Mrs. Curry. 



n a T r a i n 79 



ON A TRAIN 

"VrOR wind, nor snow, nor falling rain 
Delays to-night my rushing train, 

Though on a rocky shore. 
So wildest storms can never stay 
My course on Life's appointed way 

To reach my Father's door. 

Life, Love, is bringing o'er the sea 
A New Year's Day to all and me 

In spite of storm and night; 
He breaks the clouds that through the rift 
Our hearts above the storm may lift. 

Where all is endless light. 

" New! " never old, forever new! 
Because like Love, eternal, true. 

The miracle of morn, 
Each day that breaks along the sky, 
Proclaims Life's joy and fullness nigh, 

And faith and love new-born. 

December 31, 191L 



8o Helpfulness 



HELPFULNESS 

/^NE lifted a stone from my rocky road, 

One carried awhile my heavy load, 
One lifted his candle when all was dark, 
One heard the song of the morning lark; 
A look and I knew a brother was near, 
Only a smile, but it banished my fear. 

Ah! little ye thought of the help ye gave, 
But the little ye did was mighty to save. 



Homestead Farm 8i 

HOMESTEAD FARM i 

TLT'E evening shades that reach and fall 

Across the river's rocky wall: 
Ye far-off circling hills of green, 
Ye valleys folded deep between: 
Must we, while dimmer grows the light, 
Pause here and wave a last good-night? 

No, rocks and fields, we cannot part, 
Ye still will thrill the throbbing heart! 
For us, when faint with courage spent, 
Will still be pitched the hill-top tent. 
Where crickets chirp, and through the trees 
Hope sings responsive to the breeze. 

Ye brooklets, with your murmuring falls 
Answering afar the robins' calls. 
Ye thrushes all your mellow songs 
Will sing amid the densest throngs; 
Deep, silent woods, our tired feet 
Will press your mosses in the street, 
Wild deer that leaps across the lane, 
Hills, fields we love; ah, not in vain 
To us you gave your richest store 
For ye stay with us evermore. 

»This Poem was written (June 20, 1909) for the Guest-Book at "Home- 
stead Farm," conducted by Arthur H. Hazen, West Hartford, Vermont. 



82 In Memoriam 



IN MEMORIAM 
HERBERT Q. EMERY i 

/^NCE more the well-known doors have opened wide, 
Through them again the welcome throng has 
pressed; 

From North and South, from East and farthest West, 
And " new " and " old " are seated side by side. 
Why pause! Alas, we miss a long-loved face! 

Years, years ago when this " our work " was new; 

He heard its call, and, loyal, kind and true. 
He came and took his ne'er-forgotten place. 
Oh, throbbing hearts, on what far unknown shore. 

Walks he who was so long our hope and stay. 

Where has the curtain risen, what his play? 
What prompter calls him to his part once more! 
Great Love, who does with love our being fill, 
Does he, our own, does he meet with us still? 

' Mr. Emery was for twenty-five years Assistant in the School of Expression. 



In Memoriam 83 



IN MEMORIAM 
HERBERT A. BURNHAM ^ 

'T* RAMPING along a crooked, mountain road, 

My path met thine, O brother, young and strong; 
Thy cup was shared with me, thy helpful song, 
Thy joyous smile and faith made light my load. 

Dreaming together on a lofty ledge. 

Mapping the heights that far before us lay, 
Suddenly sank a gulf across our way! 

There hung I gasping on the dizzy edge. 

Alone! I called and called, but all was still! 

I turned and climbed, — but O how steep the hill! 
And thy bright path seemed sunk in pathless night, 
Nay, nay, where'er thou art, still shines thy light, — 

No change of worlds, brave soul, can crush thee down, — 

Thou still dost keep thy path and seek thy crown! 

1 Mr. Burnhara was a student in 1914 in the Summer Terra of the University 
of Vermont. He died August 27, 1914. 



84 The Boy 



TWO POEMS TO FRANK SANBORN 

I 
THE BOY 

/^UR youngest boy, 
Fullest of joy, 
Has borne us all upon his shoulder; 

But who in storm. 

Or summer warm, 
Has ever found him one day older? 

His faith has towered. 

And never cowered, 
Who ever felt his love grown colder? 

Against all wrong, 

He sings a song. 
His heart still warmer, and his courage bolder. 



A S nn e t 85 



II 
A SONNET 

CTILLMusketauquit murmurs low its song, 
The sky still throbs with Deity and light, 
Fields smile with June's soft green, or Winter's 
white, 
Forests still breathe their welcome deep and strong; 
But he who bared his head beneath their throng 

Of tree-tops, dwelt by Walden pond alone. 

Who woke our love for bird and bush and stone. 
Has gone and one who was his stay so long, — 
That band, all gone, save one. Today we pause. 

And bow to this heroic friend of Truth, 
This lover of his race and Freedom's laws, 

Who still keeps all the freshness of his youth, 
Still boldly strikes at public wrongs and flaws, 
And never once forgets a righteous cause. 



86 Silent Influence 



SILENT INFLUENCE 

T^OES that lone, twinkling, joyous star 
Know on what world its light is spent? 
That on this shore its joy is lent 
Even to thee? 

Thou couldst not know how far 

Thy loving smile and kindness went 
Nor what that hour it really meant 
Even to me! 

The Eternal Love admits no bar. 
And nothing ever can prevent 
The work for which its power is sent 
To set us free. 



L ife a n d J y 87 



LIFE AND JOY ^ 

/^AN you wake as wake the birds? 

In their joy and singing share? 
Stretch your limbs as do the herds, 
And drink as deep the morning air? 

Quick as larks on upward wing, 
Can you shun the demon's wiles. 

Promptly as the robins sing. 

Can you change all frowns to smiles? 

Can you spurn fear's coward whine, 
Meet each day with joyous song? 

Then will angels guard your shrine, 
Joys be deep and life be long! 

'Lines on title-page of " How to Add Ten Years to 'Vour Life.' 



88 Love Song 

LOVE SONG 

'npHE fountain of life with joy overflows, 

A deep thrill is awakened which love only knows 
And a hope fills my breast that no foe can defeat, 
For the love of my Love makes my life complete. 

Till at last on the height of the morning dawn, 
Two lonely souls were together drawn. 
The rocks smiled around us in restful repose 
And joined in the gladness of bluebell and rose. 

O moment of moments, my Love on my breast, 
My troubles and doubtings sank quickly to rest. 
And my weary heart with its hunger of years 
Was thrilled as it melted in rapturous tears. 

Though we climb again with the morning sun 
We know that forever our hearts are one; 
Though beset by storms, or in darkness I grope 
The strength of thy love is forever my hope. 

There's a warmth in my breast no winter can chill. 
And a song thrills my heart no sorrow can still; 
O love of my Love, thou hast taught me to give — 
O Love of my life, wilt thou teach me to live? 

Oh the springs of my life with joy overflow! 

A thrill is awakened love only can know, 

A hope and a courage no fear can defeat 

For the love of my Love makes my life complete! 



1 nf I u e n c e s 89 



INFLUENCES ^ 

A BOOK will oft convey 
In some mysterious way, 
A message that no word can ever say. 

What will this bear today, 

Which at thy feet I lay? 
The drone of bees mid blossoms deep in May, 

A. stony, winding way, 

A sunset's grand array 
On lake and clouds, on mountains blue and gray, 

A robin's joyous lay. 

While vesper-sparrows pray; 
Or something that will cause thy heart to stray 

To pines that gently sway, 

As breezes softly play. 
Above a lonely forest dell alway! 

A DEDICATION 

(^AN this to thee convey 
In some suggestive way 
A message which no words can ever say? 

Perchance remembrance may 

Wake in thy heart some day 
Of sunset over cliffs and mountains gray, 

A stony winding way, 

A robin's joyous lay; 
Or will it ever cause thy thoughts to stray 

To sighing pines that sway 

As breezes softly play 
Above a lonely forest-dell alway? 

' A variant of this Poem, entitled " A Dedication," was probably written 
earlier as it is briefer. It is worth preserving. 



90 In M e m r i a m 

IN MEMORIAM 
ALEXANDER MELVILLE BELL 

"yXZHERE the wide Potomac pauses 

As it meets the rising sea, 
And the mocking bird and robin 

Greet the Spring from every tree, 
Here we listen to the singing 

Of thy loved Colonial shore, 
And thy happy voice that mingles 

With its music evermore. 

Farthest West and East remotest 

With their laurel crowns have come 
And they join the song of thousands 

Who without thee would be dumb. 
All thy words to us are richer 

And thy work far greater grown 
But, thyself, more truly living, 

Thou hast reached the great Unknown. 

As the broad Potomac widens 

Where it meets the wider sea 
Thou hast met the boundless Being, — 

Thy great heart at last is free, 
And we feel thy joyous spirit. 

Take thy courage for our own. 
Send a happy cheer to greet thee 

At thy station near the throne. 



Groping 91 



GROPING 

f^NCE more I seek to reach our height, 

But seek in vain thy steady light, 
And grope in blackest depths of night. 

Upon thy sharpest thorns I fall! 
No thrill, in answer to my call; 
Around is gloom and silence all. 

O Thou whose Love remains the same. 

Who only callest hearts by name. 

And heed'st the humblest wanderer's claim, 

Our human hearts on Thee we lean. 
Thou knowest what our sorrows mean. 
Thy ways are right though all unseen; 

Help us to feel how near Thou art, 
Teach us to choose the better part 
And keep us pure and clean in heart! 



92 The Call 



WEDDING SONG 

T IFE greets thee on thy royal way, 

And brings to thee this blessed Day:- 
About thee play the joyous Hours 
And deck thy path with Morning flowers; 
Awake and hear the angels' song, 
And see them all around thee throng; 
Eternal Love the best lets fall, 
O'er one who gives her best to all. 



THE CALL 

A H, do you remember yet 

What my heart can ne'er forget; 
That great tower rising through the trees? 
Sunset over mountains gray 
And the soft caressing breeze? 
Did no rainbow rest upon that knoll 

Nor a call from soul to soul? 
Where have we wandered since that day? 
Do we too a call obey? 



